


More Than This

by emeraldsandrubies



Series: A World You Long To See [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Communication Failure, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldsandrubies/pseuds/emeraldsandrubies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan casually sleeps with everyone. Nobody thinks this is weird at all. Combeferre is definitely not pining. Poor communication skills are an epidemic among les Amis. Courfeyrac doesn't understand why no one listens to his super awesome relationship advice.</p>
<p>Set approximately concurrently with "I Fall Deep," and can be read in any order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercuryhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/gifts).



> This was written for [mercuryhatter](/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter) and uses some of zir headcanons, including genderqueer!Jehan. Thank you dear, hope you like it!
> 
> Also, my eternal gratitude to [dandelioness](/users/dandelioness/pseuds/dandelioness) for not strangling me while I was writing this, and for editing for me when all I wanted to do was throw my laptop out the window. You're the best. Any further mistakes are entirely mine.
> 
> Also, **trigger warning for abusive Montparnasse/Jehan relationship,** although it is not described in any graphic detail.

The first time Jehan shows up for a meeting, he’s wearing a knee-length, bubblegum pink skirt and a purple cardigan over a lime green t-shirt. He has a piece of lavender tucked into his braided strawberry blond hair, and he’s mad as a wet cat over the budget for the poetry department being cut. They’re glad to have him.

Jehan fits in well with their strange little group of friends. He takes university seriously, and listens with rapt attention to whatever Enjolras is going on about that day. He hums while he studies and writes poetry on every available surface and everything he does, he does with his whole heart. He is intensely devoted to his cause and his art and his friends.

He’s also, they learn quickly, very affectionate. He’s quick to greet his friends with enthusiastic hugs and face kisses whenever the urge strikes him. (Courfeyrac still likes to laugh about the first time Jehan kissed Enjolras on the cheek; Enjolras looked like he might pass out, and Grantaire nearly murdered someone. They’re all used to it now, though, and they don’t mind.) He spends most of the meetings draped over whoever will allow it, snuggling like a contented kitten.

Still, when Jehan comes in holding hands with Courfeyrac and wearing Courf’s familiar brown leather jacket, every eyebrow in the room goes up.

Jehan drops his backpack on the floor and drops into an empty chair. He pulls out a notebook, completely ignoring all the looks he’s getting.

“Jehan,” Joly says delicately. “Are you wearing Courfeyrac’s jacket?”

Jehan looks up. “Yeah,” he says. “I forgot mine, so he let me borrow it this morning.”

Bossuet opens his mouth to say something and gets elbowed in the ribs by Feuilly. Jehan looks around at all the faces staring at him. When none of them elaborate, he shrugs and goes back to his writing. Enjolras rolls his eyes and resumes typing furiously on his laptop. Combeferre keeps his gaze firmly on his textbook.

“Courfeyrac, have you been corrupting young Jehan’s virtue?” Grantaire drawls.

“You assume he has virtue for me to corrupt,” Courfeyrac retorts. Jehan goes red and shoves Courf playfully, but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders.

“So what, are the two of you dating now?” Joly asks.

“No!” Courf says.

“Ew!” Jehan says at the same time. Now it’s Courf’s turn to shove him.

“It’s just…” Jehan begins.

“No. You know what? It’s none of your business,” Courfeyrac says to their audience of eager faces. He rests his hand on Jehan’s shoulder, rubbing soothingly with his thumb.

Combeferre agrees. “Joly, can I borrow your biochem notes for a moment? I don’t think I understand this part about respiration.”

It’s a lie, of course, but it’s sufficient to distract Joly from Jehan and Courfeyrac’s personal life, and the rest of the group follows. Combeferre watches Jehan’s shoulders relax. An hour later, Jehan is sitting on Grantaire’s lap, letting Grantaire braid his hair.

When Bossuet and Joly give Jehan a ride home one night and he comes in the next day wearing one of Musichetta’s beaded scarves, no one bats an eye. After that, they all get used to seeing Jehan wander around in clothes that aren’t his, smelling of someone else’s shampoo, and they really don’t think any more of it.

Jehan also dates casually, a string of people of various genders who usually don’t stick around long enough for Jehan to introduce them to his friends. The longest is a transfer student named Cosette. She seems to share his taste in ribbons, and for a while his clothes come closer to matching and feature much more lace. (Combeferre is pretty sure that Cosette is bribing Jehan by letting him borrow her clothes in exchange for him putting on things that are at least on the same side of the color wheel.) They’re a cute couple, and Jehan seems really happy to be with her.

All of this falls apart when Jehan brings Cosette to the Musain on one of the days when Marius happens to be there. He takes one look at her, goes red to the tips of his ears, and falls out of his chair. Courfeyrac rolls his eyes so hard Combeferre is afraid he might actually sprain something. Eponine shatters a mug from the table she’s bussing and flees the room.

It really isn’t anyone’s fault when they break up. Jehan seems disappointed, a little wilted and less exuberant than usual, but then Eponine takes him out one night and they get drunk (Jehan is a lightweight and is pretty much under the table after two beers,) and she takes him home and after that Jehan is pretty much back to normal. He doesn’t even seem to mind when Cosette and Marius start dating shortly thereafter.

Cosette still lets him borrow her shirts.

Combeferre is surprised to find that he’s… pleased when they break up. It doesn’t make any sense. Jehan is his friend, and of course he wants him to be happy. But it seems like now an ache in his chest has been soothed, one he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

He puzzles over this one night, lying in bed, trying to figure out where this feeling came from. He thinks of Jehan’s cheerful, slightly mischievous smile, and his thin, delicate writer’s fingers, and his bubbly laugh that gives Combeferre a sort of warm tingle in his stomach.

Oh. Well then.

“Figured it out, did you?” Courfeyrac says with a grin when he sees Combeferre the next day.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Combeferre says. Courf just laughs.

So Combeferre might be in love with a bright-eyed poet with a penchant for pastels. And he’s really not sure what to do about it, because he thinks that if Jehan felt similarly, he’d know. To say that Jehan wears his heart on his sleeve is an understatement. And the absolute last thing Combeferre wants is to make Jehan uncomfortable with unwanted attention.

He’s not sure where he and Jehan stand. They’re friends, certainly, but Jehan seems more reserved around him, less free with his affection than he is with their other friends. Combeferre supposes that perhaps Jehan just doesn’t like him much. Not that Jehan _dislikes_ anyone, but Combeferre is too serious and too quiet and his artistic talents are limited to passable sketches of anatomical diagrams. Jehan would like someone as beautiful as he is, body and soul, and while Combeferre has many good attributes, “beautiful” is not one he would apply to himself.

He mentions all of this to Courfeyrac one night, when the two of them are studying and drinking wine in Combeferre’s dorm room, and Courfeyrac laughs so hard that tears stream down his cheeks.

Combeferre suspects that Courf says something to Jehan about it, because after that Jehan seems to keep popping up next to Combeferre, throwing his arms around Combeferre’s waist or resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. Combeferre feels like he should object on principle; he doesn’t want Jehan to feel obligated to offer affection if he doesn’t want to. But it’s hard to form coherent objections when Jehan is sitting so close and writing lines of poetry along Combeferre’s arm, so he doesn’t.

This particular night, they’re discussing the recent department cuts. Jehan delivers a moving elegy for the fallen departments (they all pretend not to notice Bahorel wiping a tear away) and then stretches out across three chairs with his head on Combeferre’s leg while Enjolras talks logistics of organizing a protest. It’s distracting, to say the least, but Combeferre would feel more guilty if it weren’t for the fact that no one else seems to be paying the least bit of attention either. Feuilly is folding origami flowers, Courfeyrac and Grantaire are winging paper airplanes back and forth, and Jehan might actually be asleep. Enjolras is quickly losing patience with his friends, so Combeferre steps in before things get out of hand.

“What about a letter-writing campaign?” Combeferre says. “The departments being cut are small, but there’s enough of them that we can get a sizable movement going if we try. Besides, cutting the journalism major was a bad move. If there’s anyone we can get to stage protests, it’s journalism students.”

“Point,” Enjolras says. “Can you send out a mass email?”

“I’ll try to get it out by tomorrow morning,” Combeferre promises. “Perhaps we can revisit the issue then? I think Jehan is falling asleep.”

“All right,” Enjolras says. “Grantaire, Feuilly, can you work on designs for some flyers? I want to see them as soon as possible.” Everyone starts grabbing bags and coats.

"Come on," Combeferre says to Jehan, helping him to his feet. A couple of Feuilly's flowers tumble to the floor. Jehan, eyes half closed, wraps his arms around Combeferre's torso.

"Jehan? I'm going out for a drink with Bahorel," Courfeyrac says. Combeferre might be imagining it, but he thinks he spots a mischievous gleam in Courf's eye. "You going to be alright?"

"Um, how am I going to get home?" Jehan asks.

Courfeyrac gives Combeferre a look. "I'll give you a ride," Combeferre says, glaring at Courfeyrac. Combeferre is pretty sure Courf is doing this on purpose.

Perhaps because of this, Combeferre's offer comes out more grudging than he intends. "It's okay," Jehan says. "You don't have to. I’ll just ask Grantaire.”

"R's busy right now," Courfeyrac says, glancing over to where Grantaire is waiting to talk to Enjolras, twisting his hat in his hands. "And if I have to witness anymore of his hopeless pining I'm going to scream, so nobody better mess this up for him."

"I don't mind," Combeferre says to Jehan. "Come on, you look like you're about to pass out standing up." He wraps his arm around Jehan and helps him out to the car.

Jehan perks up a bit on the drive over to his apartment. “The yellow half-moon large and low,” he murmurs, catching sight of the moon through the windshield.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s from a poem,” Jehan says, but doesn’t elaborate.

Combeferre parks the car in front of the apartment Jehan shares with Courf and Marius. "I don't think Marius is home," Jehan says. "He's out with Cosette. He might even spend the night at her place."

"You've got your key, don't you?" Combeferre asks.

"Yeah," Jehan says. "I meant… do you want to come up for a while?" Jehan’s sweet smile has just a hint of wickedness.

Combeferre’s tiny car suddenly seems even smaller. Jehan is sitting very close. Even in the dim light of the flickering streetlamp, Combeferre can see each of Jehan’s freckles. He’s struck by the ridiculous urge to kiss them, to drag Jehan upstairs and map constellations with his tongue. He wants to see the beautiful poet rendered speechless by ecstasy. He wants to fall asleep with that body cradled in his arms and his face buried in Jehan’s hair.

And then what? They’ll wake up the next morning, and tomorrow evening Jehan will be sitting on Bossuet’s lap. It’s how he does friendship, that’s all. And Combeferre treasures Jehan’s friendship, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to wake up tomorrow and act like nothing happened.

Combeferre swallows. “No thank you. I… I have a chemistry midterm to study for.”

“Oh.” Jehan blinks, and Combeferre is momentarily entranced by the movement of his eyelashes. “Okay. Well, good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Combeferre says. He watches as Jehan climbs out of the car and goes inside. Combeferre drives back to his dorm room and studies chemistry and definitely doesn’t fall asleep thinking about the little tremble in Jehan’s lip before he turned away.

***

“So you like Jehan, right?” Courfeyrac asks the next day.

Combeferre chokes on his coffee. “Everyone likes Jehan,” he says when he can breathe again.

“Let me rephrase,” Courfeyrac says. “You’re madly in love with Jehan, and you want to tear all of his clothes off and ravish him until neither of you can remember your own names, right?”

Combeferre is pretty sure his face is actually on fire. “I don’t know why you’d ask that…”

“Don’t worry, that question was mostly rhetorical,” Courf says. “The actual question is, why haven’t you yet?”

Combeferre decides that trying to change the subject will be useless, and instead appeals to Courfeyrac’s sense of shame. Not that Courf has much of one. “Is this really the time and place to be talking about this?”

“Can you think of a better one?” Courfeyrac asks, waving his hand at the mostly empty room. Feuilly is working ridiculous hours again, and Joly and Bossuet stayed home because Joly thinks he’s coming down with the flu. Bahorel is who knows where, and Jehan mentioned something vague about having plans and hasn’t been seen in hours. Enjolras and Grantaire are sitting on the other side of the room, pretending to work on homework, but are secretly sneaking glances at each other when the other isn’t looking. It’s doubtful that a box of fireworks could get their attention.

“Look,” Courfeyrac says. “I talked to him this morning. I know you had pretty much the perfect opportunity last night, and I know you’re in love with him, so why didn’t you do anything?”

“Because casual sex is fine for some people, but I’m not interested,” Combeferre says. “Not that it’s any of your business, by the way.”

Courf stares at him. “You thought it was casual?” he says. 

“It’s always casual with Jehan,” Combeferre says, and then winces at how judgmental that sounds. “I’m not going to do that. I can’t.”

“Ferre, he’s completely in love with you,” Courfeyrac says. “How do you not know that?”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would he like me?” Combeferre asks, refusing to say that other L word. “I mean, I can name all the bones in the hand and know all the Latin names for plants, but I can’t write poetry to save my life. We’re just… very different people.”

“For someone so smart, you can be such an idiot sometimes,” Courfeyrac says. “Just talk to him, okay? Please? I am begging you here. Watching the two of you pine is driving me crazy.”

“If I say yes, will you let me go back to studying?” Combeferre asks. “I have a midterm at six.”

Courf sighs. “Just talk to him.”

***

But Combeferre doesn’t. It’s not like he’s trying not to. Between everyone’s midterm schedules and trying to coordinate Enjolras’ protest of the department cuts, he’s barely seen any of his friends in the last week or so. It’s not that unusual around exam time. He wants to talk to Jehan, even if only because Jehan is his friend, but there hasn’t been a good time.

“I’m not avoiding him,” Combeferre insists, marching across campus with Courfeyrac following him. “I’ve just been busy. Some of us actually study for exams.”

“Well exams are over, so you have no excuse,” Courfeyrac says.

“Have you considered that maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Combeferre asks pointedly.

“Have you ever known Jehan to avoid anything?” Courfeyrac asks. Combeferre has to admit he has a point.

“Look, if he shows up tonight, I’ll—“ Combeferre stops dead in his tracks. Courfeyrac walks straight into him. 

“What the—“ Courf says, staring at the same sight that has transfixed Combeferre. “Is that _Jehan?_ ”

Of course it is. There’s no one else on campus, or possibly in the entire country, who would be seen in floral print skinny jeans, combat boots, and a pastel yellow Fluttershy t-shirt. Jehan is instantly recognizable anywhere, which is helpful, as his face is obscured by a tall man in a black leather jacket who appears to be trying to eat Jehan’s face. Not that Jehan looks like he minds in the slightest.

“With _Montparnasse?”_ Courfeyrac practically screeches.

Combeferre wrenches himself away from the sight and marches into the Musain without a word. 

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” Courfeyrac demands of Jehan when the latter finally decides to pull away from Montparnasse and join them in the café.

Jehan flushes, but his eyes take on a vaguely terrifying glint that they all recognize. “I don’t have to justify my decisions to you.”

“But _Montparnasse?”_ Grantaire asks.

“What’s wrong with Parnasse?” Jehan wants to know.

“What’s wrong with him? He’s a… a… a hooligan!” Courf says.

“Hooligan? He’s a criminal!” Joly says.

“The charges were dropped!” Jehan protests.

“Not helping,” Enjolras points out drily. 

“Trust me, Jehan,” Eponine says. She’s elected to spend her break debating about Jehan’s new boyfriend with them. “You don’t want to get involved with Montparnasse. As someone who knows him, I can tell you, he’s bad news.”

“‘Ferre, come on,” Courf says. “Tell him.”

Combeferre maybe only imagines that the room goes quieter than usual. He doesn’t lift his gaze from his textbook. “Jehan’s an adult,” he says quietly. “He can date whomever he wants.”

Courfeyrac throws his hands up in exasperation. Jehan looks less pleased than one might expect about having someone finally agree with him. “I appreciate your concern,” he says primly, “but my love life is not a democracy.”

“Can we make it one?” Feuilly asks. “We can stage a rebellion. Enjolras can write stirring political speeches. Combeferre can—“

Whatever Combeferre’s role in the revolution of Jehan’s love life is lost as Jehan throws himself at Feuilly. There’s no real malice in it, just playful teasing, but the two of them wrestle around on the floor for a minute.

“Bet you ten bucks Jehan wins,” Eponine says.

“There’s no one in this room dumb enough to take that bet,” Bahorel replies.

“Hey!” Feuilly gives Bahorel an indignant look. Montparnasse is mostly forgotten.

But he doesn’t go away. He still frequently gives Jehan rides to and from the café, or his classes. Every time Combeferre watches Jehan climb on the back of that motorcycle, wrapping his arms around Montparnasse’s waist, his stomach turns. Jehan, meanwhile, is spending less time with his friends, and more time with his new boyfriend.

It’s bothering Courfeyrac most of all of them. “I’m not going to talk about it,” Combeferre tells him the seventh time he tries to bring it up. Jehan isn’t there; he’s already threatened to dye all of Courfeyrac’s clothes pink if Courf says another word about Montparnasse in Jehan’s presence. “As long as Jehan’s happy, I couldn’t care less.”

It’s a lie, of course, and not a particularly convincing one at that, but Courfeyrac seems to have given up calling Combeferre on it.

“He’s just worried about you,” Feuilly says, once Courfeyrac gives up and goes off to bother Enjolras. “Meddling is how he shows he cares.”

“I know.” Courfeyrac wants everyone to be happy. He just thinks he knows what would make someone happy better than they themselves do.

The thing is, though, that Jehan really doesn’t seem to be happy at all. There are dark circles under his eyes that he no longer bothers trying to cover up, and he’s taken to wearing drab greys and blues instead of his usual more vibrant hues. More often than not he slouches down into one of Montparnasse’s hoodies, which are two sizes too big for him and make him look like he’s being swallowed.

“I didn’t know Jehan actually owned any blue jeans,” Bossuet comments.

“No florals today?” Musichetta asks Jehan. She came to pick up Bossuet and Joly, and decided to stay for a cup of coffee while they wait for Joly to get done with his class.

“Montparnasse says they’re hideous,” Jehan says quietly.

“His face is hideous,” Courf mutters. No one says anything, although significant looks are exchanged.

“I think we need to stage an intervention,” Joly says one day.

Combeferre closes his book with a snap. He’s had enough. His own jealousy is hard enough to deal with, (and he is jealous, he can admit it to himself even if he won’t say it to anyone else,) and listening to everyone go on and on about it just makes everything worse.

“What _exactly_ are you planning to do?” Combeferre asks. “He’s heard all of your opinions on the matter several times by now. But I’m sure if you just patiently explain to him again why everything he’s doing is wrong, he’ll suddenly change his mind. That sounds like Jehan, doesn’t it?” He lets the uncomfortable silence that follows stretch out before he continues. “He doesn’t need saving. And he won’t thank you for meddling.”

“But you’ve seen how Montparnasse treats him,” Bossuet says. They all have. They’ve all seen Montparnasse’s possessive hands around Jehan’s waist, heard his cutting comments that wipe the smile off Jehan’s face. They’ve seen how Jehan seems to shrink around him. Feuilly’s taken to standing between Bahorel and Montparnasse whenever the latter is around, because they all know it’s only a matter of time before Bahorel punches that asshole in the face, and then Jehan will probably never speak to any of them again.

“It’s like you don’t care about him at all,” Grantaire says darkly.

Combeferre slams his book on the table. “Don’t you _ever_ suggest such a thing to me again,” he says quietly. He doesn’t need to issue any threats. Combeferre’s fury, on the rare occasions he actually does get angry, rivals Enjolras’.

Combeferre does understand where they’re coming from, though. It would be hard to watch even if he didn’t have his own feelings to deal with. Jehan looks moodier than usual a few days later, and Combeferre wonders if he and Montparnasse had a fight. Montparnasse hasn’t been seen in days. They’re all sure he’s out stealing cars or something, but at least he isn’t hanging around outside the Musain, waiting for Jehan and smoking a cigarette menacingly. 

Courfeyrac is trying to cheer Jehan up, but his usual strategies aren’t working. Jehan has barely responded at all to Courf’s jokes and flirting. Courfeyrac goes to tickle Jehan’s ribs, a favorite tactic that has never before failed to make Jehan crack a smile, and Jehan slaps his hand away. “Stop!” he yells.

In half a second, Courfeyrac is half way across the room, hands held up placatingly. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

Jehan is pale and trembling a little, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “I just want to go home,” he says quietly.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Combeferre offers.

“I can do it,” Courf says.

“It’s fine,” Combeferre says. He and Jehan take their books and walk out to Combeferre’s car. They’re silent most of the way back to Jehan’s apartment.

“Does he hit you?” Combeferre finally asks quietly.

“No,” Jehan says, but he doesn’t seem surprised at the question. “He doesn’t,” he says, catching the look Combeferre is giving him. He sighs. “He’s not a gentle person,” Jehan explains. “Sometimes he’s not very careful. He doesn’t mean to. He just forgets sometimes.”

Combeferre thinks Jehan actually believes what he’s saying. It doesn’t make him feel much better. “Why do you stay with him?” he asks. “You don’t love him.” They both know it’s true. Everyone knows it’s true.

“You don’t need to love someone in order to date them,” Jehan says. “Plenty of people don’t. It’s just fun.”

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.” Jehan doesn’t say anything to that.

“You should be with someone you love,” Combeferre says, when Jehan doesn’t answer. “You were made to love people.”

“What if the person I love doesn’t love me?” Jehan asks.

“I can’t imagine that,” Combeferre says lightly, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He parks the car in front of Jehan’s apartment. There’s a moment of silence.

“Thanks,” Jehan says. “For the ride.”

“Any time,” Combeferre says, meaning it. “And Jehan? Call me. Or text me, or whatever. If you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?”

Jehan smiles, a ghost of the one he used to wear. “Thanks, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

It’s the best he’s going to get, Combeferre thinks.

***

Combeferre is pretty sure that going out drinking to celebrate the end of finals is Bahorel’s idea, and he isn’t sure if he wants to kiss him or punch him for that. Either would be equally dangerous.

They all meet up at the bar and immediately proceed to get very, very drunk. Combeferre knows that mass drunkenness tends to end badly, particularly for their group, but it’s not as bad as he was expecting. Bahorel is employing his usual strategy of making ill-advised bets with Feuilly (“Bet you a drink you can’t sing the entire Polish national anthem,”) as an excuse to pay for Feuilly’s drinks, and Feuilly is pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on. Jehan keeps giggling, and he’s let Eponine put sparkly green eyeshadow on his eyes. Combeferre hasn’t seen Jehan in makeup in ages; apparently Montparnasse hates glitter as much as he loves kicking kittens and stealing candy from small children.

The main entertainment of the night are Enjolras and Grantaire, who seem to have finally given up all attempts at subtlety. Grantaire, far from his usual cynical self, keeps laughing and running his hands over Enjolras, who barely puts up a token protest. And then they’re making out with Grantaire on Enjolras’ lap, and Bahorel is pretending to vomit into his beer, and Courfeyrac and Joly are arguing over a bet, and everything feels _right_.

Maybe Combeferre’s had more to drink than he thought.

Jehan is giggling again, and it’s been so long since Combeferre heard him laugh like that. He thinks Jehan looks particularly pretty tonight, hair tumbling loose instead of his usual braid and face flushed from the alcohol. The fact that he’s not wearing one of Montparnasse’s sweatshirts tonight helps a lot; that ruffly blue top was probably borrowed from Cosette, and it looks really, really good on him. More than once Jehan catches him staring, and one time he winks. Combeferre chokes on his beer.

Yep, Combeferre’s definitely had too much to drink.

Eponine is the DD tonight, so when she threatens to leave them all at the bar overnight, they all troop outside to the beat-up minivan she bought for basically nothing from some distant relative or other. It’s crowded even without Grantaire, who is riding home with Enjolras. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta live closest, so they take the middle row, and Bahorel claims the front seat because he’s the biggest, leaving the rest of them to pack themselves into the very back. Combeferre gets in first and slides all the way over to the window.

Jehan follows, sliding in next to him. Combeferre’s breath stutters as Jehan’s leg presses up against his. Jehan tilts his head and smiles. “Hi,” he says.

“Move over,” Courfeyrac says, slipping next to Jehan and giving him a shove, “Feuilly has to fit in too.” A small scuffle occurs as everyone fights for space, somehow ending with Jehan sitting on Combeferre’s lap.

Combeferre suspects Courfeyrac planned it that way, but he’s more distracted by the fact that he suddenly can’t breathe. He can count every freckle on Jehan’s face, almost feel the heat of his flushed skin. Jehan’s mouth is slightly parted in surprise, and he smells like the fruity cocktails he orders based solely on how ridiculous their names are.

Later, neither of them will be able to say who started it. It seems as if they both move at once towards each other, until their lips mash together in a kiss that is neither graceful nor remotely platonic. Somewhere in the back of Combeferre’s head he knows he’s going to hate himself for this in the morning, but right now he doesn’t care, because he has Jehan’s mouth moving hungrily against his, and his heart feels like it’s about to burst.

Combeferre rests his hands on Jehan’s hips, and Jehan wraps his arms around Combeferre’s neck and pulls him closer. Combeferre nips gently at Jehan’s lower lip, and Jehan actually moans.

“No making out in the back seat of my car!” Eponine shouts from outside the window.

Combeferre and Jehan spring apart. Jehan leans so far back he would fall off Combeferre’s lap if there were room to do so. Courfeyrac and Feuilly are bent double with laughter, and Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Bahorel are turned around in their seats, watching with ridiculous grins on their faces. Jehan goes positively magenta. Combeferre covers his face with his hands. It’s too much to hope that Jehan hasn’t noticed how hard Combeferre is, given that he’s sitting on the man’s lap, and Combeferre thinks that he isn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with this kind of embarrassment.

They have to sit like that for the entire ride to Joly and Bossuet’s apartment, when Courfeyrac and Feuilly take the recently vacated middle row. Jehan immediately slides off Combeferre’s lap and presses himself against the opposite window. Combeferre likewise pretends to be fascinated with the streetlights rushing by.

Jehan still doesn’t look at him when Eponine drops him and Courfeyrac off. “Bye!” he squeaks in the general direction of the car, and practically runs inside. Courfeyrac pauses to give Combeferre a wink and a thumbs-up.

When he sobers up the next morning, and the previous night’s memories hit him again, Combeferre spends a few minutes contemplating dying of humiliation before ruling it out as impractical. Still, he’s pretty sure he crossed a line last night, and he probably owes Jehan an apology. He starts to compose a hasty “sorry for kissing you while we were both drunk” text, but his head aches, and he decides that it’s too early in the morning for technology. He can apologize in person later.

As it turns out, he doesn’t get the chance. He doesn’t see Jehan before he flies home for the holidays the next day.

He tells himself he’s relieved, not disappointed.

***

It’s two AM, the night before classes resume, when Combeferre’s phone rings. He sleepily fumbles in the dark and squints at the screen. It’s a text from Jehan.

**_Jehan:_ ** _are you still awake???_

**_Ferre <3:_ ** _Yes._

It isn’t technically a lie.

**_Jehan:_ ** _good cause i’m outside your dorm. can I come in???_

**_Ferre <3:_ ** _One sec. I’ll be right down._

Combeferre grabs his glasses, his keys, and a pair of shoes, and stumbles out of his room and down the hallway.

Jehan is indeed waiting outside the dorm’s front door. He’s not wearing a coat, despite the fact that it’s January, just a pair of jeans and one of Montparnasse’s sweatshirts. His face is red, and there are tears running down his cheeks.

Neither of them say anything until they get back to Combeferre’s room. Combeferre pulls out all the extra blankets he has and Jehan cocoons himself in them while Combeferre fills the electric kettle with water to make tea. When it’s done, he sets a steaming mug down next to Jehan and sits beside him on the futon.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asks gently.

“Montparnasse and I broke up,” Jehan says.

Combeferre is more relieved than he has any right to be. He doesn’t like being pleased when Jehan is clearly in so much pain, but he’s sure that this will turn out to be for the better. Montparnasse isn’t good for Jehan. Jehan should never be with anyone who makes him cry.

“What happened?” Combeferre asks.

“I went to see him,” Jehan says. “I just got back today… I mean, yesterday, I guess. And I barely talked to him over break, so I thought… I don’t know. He was rude. I mean, he’s always rude, but this time, I don’t know, I didn’t like it. We had a big fight, and he called me names, and I tried to leave, and he grabbed my arm and then I think I broke his nose.”

Combeferre doesn’t mean to laugh, but he really can’t help it. “You punched Montparnasse?”

Jehan finally cracks a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I did.” He giggles.

“Bahorel’s going to be jealous,” Combeferre says. “He’s been dying to do that for ages.” His grin fades. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jehan says. “I mean, I think I will be. I actually feel kind of relieved. Is that bad?”

“It just means you made the right choice by ending it,” Combeferre says. “I’m glad.”

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late,” Jehan says.

“Don’t be,” Combeferre says firmly. “You’re never a bother, Jehan.”

“Can… can I have a hug?” Jehan asks hesitantly. Combeferre immediately reaches out and pulls Jehan into his arms. He melts against Combeferre’s chest, and Combeferre holds him and strokes Jehan’s hair. They sit like that for several minutes.

“You want to stay here tonight?” Combeferre says. “You should get some sleep.”

“You don’t mind?” Jehan says.

“Not at all,” Combeferre says. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the futon.”

“I can’t take your bed!” Jehan protests.

“Yes, you can,” Combeferre says. “Do it. I’m planning on staying up for a little while anyway.”

Jehan doesn’t have any energy left to argue. “Thank you, Combeferre,” he says.

“Go to bed,” Combeferre says. “You don’t want to be falling asleep in your poetry class.”

Jehan crawls under the sheets and curls up in a ball. Combeferre finishes his tea and falls asleep on the futon.

***

Jehan is still asleep when Combeferre leaves for his nine AM class the next morning. Combeferre leaves a note, apologizing for having to leave so early and inviting Jehan to borrow anything in his closet. He briefly considers setting Montparnasse’s sweatshirt on fire.

He doesn’t see Jehan again until that afternoon at the Musain. Enjolras is calling an official meeting to talk about some racist remarks the university president made in an interview with the school paper over the break. Joly and Feuilly are trying to convince Bahorel that slashing the president’s tires, while satisfying, won’t bring them the kind of attention they want, when Jehan comes in, smiling like the sun and wearing Combeferre’s purple plaid button-up. This latter fact isn’t lost on Courfeyrac.

“Is Jehan wearing your shirt?” he asks, grinning. “Please tell me yes, I’ve been waiting for this for _ages—_ “

“He showed up at my dorm after a fight with Montparnasse,” Combeferre interrupts. “I slept on the futon.”

Courfeyrac bangs his forehead on the table. “You two are literally going to kill me.”

“Speak of the devil,” says Bossuet, who’s eavesdropping shamelessly. They all look up to see Montparnasse standing in the doorway. He nose is swollen and purple, but he’s no less menacing than usual.

“Get out,” Jehan says. He’s shaking, but Combeferre recognizes it as fury, not fear.

“Relax,” Montparnasse says, holding up his hands. “All I want is my sweatshirt back.”

Jehan pulls the sweatshirt from his bag and throws it at Montparnasse. “Here. Now leave.”

Montparnasse studies him, taking in the purple button-up. “You didn’t even wait a day before falling into someone else’s bed, did you,” he sneers. “I always knew you were a whore, but…”

Combeferre yanks Courfeyrac back into his seat by his arm. Enjolras has a restraining hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, hissing furiously in his ear. Joly, Bossuet, and Feuilly more or less tackle Bahorel, whose shouts of “Let me go, I’m gonna kill him!” drown out the rest of Montparnasse’s words. None of them think to pay attention to Jehan, who shoots out of his seat and drags Montparnasse bodily from the room. They can hear him screaming swears before he makes it to the door.

“Let me go,” Grantaire snarls at Enjolras. “‘Parnasse is going to kill him.”

“Who do you think broke ‘Parnasse’s nose?” Combeferre asks. “Jehan can handle it.”

“Where did our sweet, innocent Jehan learn those words?” Enjolras asks.

“Where do you think?” Courfeyrac asks, looking at Bahorel, who’s lying on the floor, swearing up a storm, with Joly, Feuilly, and Bossuet all sitting on him.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t go break his face,” Bahorel snarls.

“Because Jehan doesn’t want you to,” Feuilly says reasonably.

“Also because you can’t afford to get arrested again,” Joly points out.

“Besides, Jehan’s fine,” Courfeyrac says placatingly. “Look, he’s coming back.”

Jehan isn’t fine. He’s crying again, and he won’t talk to anyone. He just curls up in a chair in the corner and doesn’t look at any of them. Eventually Courf takes him home. Even Enjolras has a hard time staying focused on the university’s racist asshole of a president after that, and wraps up early. The rest of them leave shortly thereafter.

Before Combeferre goes to bed, he sends Jehan a text.

**_Ferre <3:_ ** _Hope you’re feeling better. Sweet dreams._

All he gets is a :) in response, but it’s enough.

***

It takes Jehan a little while to get back to normal. Sometimes he still flinches when Bahorel and Feuilly get too rough with each other, or when Grantaire and Enjolras start yelling, and they all notice, and it’s heartbreaking. But they trust that he’ll be okay. He’s Jehan. He’s tough.

Jehan spends a lot of time over the next few weeks curled up on Combeferre’s futon with a textbook, the two of them studying in comfortable silence. Sometimes they talk about politics, or school work, or their friends. Sometimes they talk about Montparnasse.

“I feel so stupid,” Jehan says, pulling a blanket higher across his legs. “I shouldn’t even be upset about it. I could have left at any time, and I didn’t. So I shouldn’t complain about what he did. I mean, I let him.”

“It’s not your job to make people treat you with respect,” Combeferre says. “He hurt you, and you have a right to be upset about it. Nothing you could possibly have done makes the things he did or said to you okay.”

“But I knew,” Jehan says. “I knew that things… weren’t right. I should have left sooner, but I didn’t. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Combeferre says. “What he did… that’s on him, not you. It is not your fault.”

He doesn’t think Jehan believes him, not yet, but he’s willing to say it every day until he does.

“Thank you,” Jehan says. “For listening to me.”

“Any time,” Combeferre says.

They don’t mention that kiss. Combeferre finally chalks it up to a drunken mistake and and shoves it to the back of his mind. He likes this easy trust they have now, and he doesn’t want to ruin that.

And then he gets a text from Jehan one day.

**_Jehan:_ ** _are you coming to the musain tomorrow?_

**_Ferre <3:_ ** _Yes. Why?_

**_Jehan:_ ** _i wanted to talk to you about something. see you then._

Combeferre wonders what’s so important that Jehan can’t just text him, but he doesn’t ask.

When he gets to the café the next day, Jehan is waiting for him, wearing a fluffy turquoise sweater and those floral skinny jeans that Combeferre missed so much. He’s even got a flower tucked into his braid, and Combeferre wonders where he found one in the middle of February.

“I like you,” Jehan bursts out as soon as he sees Combeferre, without so much as a preliminary hello. “I like you and you’re really nice and your glasses are really sexy and do you want to go out sometime?”

Combeferre stares. And stares some more. After a minute Jehan starts to look uncomfortable, and Combeferre realizes he should probably say something.

“Yes,” he says, “I’d like that a lot.”

Jehan beams. A shriek comes from the back room and Courfeyrac comes barreling out. He throws his arms around both of them, still squealing.

“Finally!” Court shouts in Combeferre’s ear. “I thought the two of you were never going to get around to it. Come on, I brought cake.”

There is indeed cake. It’s covered in white frosting, with pretty pink frosting roses along the edge, and “Congratulations on finally getting your heads out of your asses!” across the middle in green script. “Enjolras & Grantaire” and “Combeferre & Jehan” are written in the top corners in blue.

“What were you going to do with this if I said no?” Combeferre asks.

“Chuck it at your head,” Courfeyrac replies.

“Grantaire and I have been dating for nearly four months,” Enjolras points out, eyebrow raised. “It’s hardly news anymore.”

“How come I don’t get my name on the cake?” Bahorel wants to know.

“Take your boyfriend out on a real date and then we’ll talk,” Courf says.

Bahorel grins at Feuilly. “What do you say?” he asks. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, with like, candles and shit. One of those places where they don’t let you in if you’re not wearing a tie. I can even buy you flowers.”

Feuilly glares at him. “I will murder you in your sleep.” Bahorel just grins and kisses him sloppily on the cheek.

Jehan, meanwhile, hasn’t said a word, but he also hasn’t stopped smiling. Shyly, he reaches out and takes Combeferre’s hand.  They don’t let go, even though it means trying to eat their cake one-handed.

“You’ve got cake on your face,” Jehan says, smiling. Before Combeferre can do anything about it, Jehan leans over and kisses him gently on the lips. “Got it.”

Combeferre places a hand on the side of Jehan’s face and pulls him closer, pressing his mouth to Jehan’s. He tastes like frosting, and Combeferre has never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Jehan is what we would call genderqueer, but he isn't really a big fan of labels. He generally uses he-his-him pronouns for convenience, although he wouldn't have a problem if someone wanted to call him by any other pronouns.
> 
> Texts are written as the person receiving them would see them, so yes, Combeferre is listed as “Ferre <3,” heart included, in Jehan’s phone.
> 
> The poem Jehan quotes is “Meeting at Night,” by Robert Browning.
> 
> And the title is taken from the song "Crushcrushcrush" by Paramore, although I suppose it's vague enough that no one would notice if I didn't mention it.
> 
> Finally, if I messed anything up, particularly in regards to Jehan's gender or the Montparnasse/Jehan relationship, please, please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP. I tried to treat these subjects respectfully, but I do frequently screw up.
> 
> And, like always, I own none of these characters.
> 
> Thanks for reading! You're lovely.


End file.
